Punch Drunk Love
by Alligator Pink
Summary: From the Kink Meme- "USxUK, with England trying to get America drunk. It works." Ongoing fic.
1. Chapter 1

England simply didn't get how America could be so dense, on top of other things.

He was loud and pretty obnoxious most of the time. At every meeting, he would start by shoving his ideas about being a 'hero' and 'saving the day or some other utterly rubbish idea. (He hadn't been raised like that, England would think to himself.) Unfortunately, despite his constantly irritating presence...

Arthur was (still) madly in love with him.

And America (still) didn't have a bloody clue.

Granted, America didn't even know how to get most anywhere in the world, so perhaps it was understandable that he was oblivious to any of the subtle advances Arthur had made over the years. Arthur wasn't the type to simply go out of the way to make any advance painfully noticeable. Nor frequent. But they were there.

The first try at expressing love towards the other nation had been while America had been a young man. Back then, things were so much easier- the younger colony had always been so eager to please. While America wasn't quite to the point of understanding what kind of relationship England was planning with him, the seeds of it had begun to be planted in his heart. However, England never got the chance to encourage that kind of love to bloom between them, because of..._that_ incident.

Afterwards, their relationship had considerably soured for quite some time, and only in the last century had England resumed his subtle gestures to a dim America.

During the World War was a prime example. Arthur would come, bicker with Alfred on tactics, on troops, on maneuvers, on everything you could imagine. Alfred would simply shoot right back with his loud mouth, waving his arms up and down, and trying to shove whatever idea was opposite of Arthur's. And even during those times of tenseness, where England felt nothing more than an urge to kick America back across the pond... he still had tried to give America a clue how he truly felt. Slight touches. A brush on the hand. A steady gaze.

None of these which were picked up by Alfred.

Again, World War 2. England was once again in the same dance with America. But when those planes hit Japan, Arthur had to all but force his former ward into a semblance of collected revenge, instead of the frightening fury he had developed into overnight. The younger nation had indeed become the 'sleeping giant' everyone had been terrified of. England had comforted him in his own way, bickered the rest, but still had looked out for him. Even in a time so desperate in his own country.

By the end of the war, Arthur simply had all but given up on every having Alfred ever understand his feelings towards him. They were locked in the war of misunderstanding. England was unable to express himself so strongly to America without knowing if that love was returned, and America was simply too self absorbed to even realized he was being pursued.

So it came as an utter surprise to England when one evening he actually outright tried. Perhaps all these years of frustrated waiting had finally demanded an answer.

Said answer seeking had been inspired when he had been drinking with America after a grueling world conference in London. The circumstances hadn't been different from any other instance where he and America had gone to the pub. At the time, he had been extremely drunk, while a somehow still-sober America watched on. This was also staple occurrence every time the two countries would go drinking together, (bloody Alfred and his ability to process liquor.)

The combination of alcohol and lowered inhibitions, Arthur finally made an actual pass at Alfred. He didn't understand so much why he chose now, as not earlier, or later… but somehow, NOW was the time.

200 years later, America still was clueless. America had laughed at him, patted him on the back, and grinned with his same, beaming smile as he commented to Arthur,

"England, you're gonna feel like shit tomorrow."

But the American hadn't rejected him. Even after Arthur had trailed his hand down near the lonely state of Florida, America had simply shifted away. No shout, no curse, no tearing out of the establishment. He just acted like it hadn't happened. All was evident was a slight flush of the face, an ever so slight intake of the breath- and one more drink later, the two of them leaving the pub, America escorting the drunken nation home.

By then, England was so hammered he could barely focus on walking, letting alone trying again. Only when he reached the doorstep did he even bother a second shot.

"Stay wiff me," he mumbled, with a pathetic look in America's direction. Despite his intoxication, the feeling that pulled on his heart was reminiscent of when he had told a small colony the same thing. But Alfred had left him all those years ago. Left him in the rain with his bloody Revolution-

"England, I got a flight out of Heathrow tomorrow morning. Y'know, American hero type stuff going down in Washington. I can't miss it." The blue eye winked at him, and England's stomach lurched. Arthur had then grabbed America to steady himself. He distantly recalled Alfred tensing up immensely at the touch, and a small, choked off noise.

But once again, America didn't shove him off. He simply used that godawful strength of his to pry England off him, walk him into his flat, and set him up on the couch. By then England was feeling drowsy, so he barely cared, only mumbling nonsensically to America.

The last thing he recalled was the half-dreamed feeling of someone gently running fingers through his hair.

And then, the sound of the door shutting.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, England had felt like someone had kicked his head in several times. He had threw up several times upon waking- (thoughtfully, America had left a rubbish bin right next to the couch) and groaned aloud to the emptiness of his flat. While the morning hours were spent in a hangover hell, by the afternoon his illness had stopped enough to get him to actually think about the previous night's events.

While there were definite gaps in his memory, he remembered two important things:

1.) he had finally had made recognizable, non-subtle pass at America.

2.) America had neither accepted nor rejected him.

And that was what really confused Arthur. As embarrassed as England was now, (and he would have to ensure at the next time he saw America, he would immediately play off anything the nation would try to instigate to rile him up) the night had indeed brought him answer.

He still had no fucking clue if America possibly replicated his feelings.

The nation growled, rolling over on his stomach on the plush couch. America had shown signs of interest- the flushed cheeks, the hesitant gasp there… and yet he had shied away from contact. Every single time.

What did that mean?

The answer didn't come to Arthur until several weeks later, when he had been flipping channels through the telly, landing on the international version of CNN. The American reporter on the screen was standing next to a busy street, while a throng of people behind her waved signs at ongoing traffic.

"Today, in Connecticut, members of the Sunlife Congregation are protesting against the legalization of same-sex marriage'-

England switched the channel.

"TRY CILLIT BANG-"

Ugh.

After clicking through various channels for quite some time, he left the television on the BBC as he went to prepare some afternoon tea. After said tea making was done, he came back to a documentary attempting to explain some holiday in the states called Thanksgiving.

England had only begun to move his finger down the remote in disinterest about some random celebration about eating (typical America), when the narrator mentioned a sentence that had him pause his finger-

"The first American Thanksgiving, celebrated by the Puritans, would mark a tradition that would stem a long lasting tradition of celebrating the harvest. However, it was not officially a holiday in the country until 1863, whereas-"

But England was no longer listening. Instead, he was remembering.

The Puritans.

Arthur remembered their request to go the New World. At the time, he had simply shrugged, given them his blessing, and thought privately to himself it was best if their little religious sect was far the hell away from his own Church of England.

Mulling that over, England recalled the Puritans also being especially opposed to any type of open sexuality. But that was a long, long time ago.

Hm.

Arthur turned off the television with a click of the button.

First, the Puritans had gone off with their beliefs. Then, hundreds of years later, other religious groups had taken their place, protesting many of the same things they had. America had been subjected to centuries of passionate religious thinking.

England knew America wasn't a reflection of these at all. Rather, he was more aloof towards religions, only stating in response to an enquiry- "Separation of Church and State."

But that didn't mean those strong ideals didn't have an influence on how America acted. Thinking it over, Arthur felt he may have misjudged Alfred's denseness in romance incorrectly. Perhaps, deep down, Alfred wanted England as much as he desired his former colony.

However, America might be shy towards any advances… due to that self-repression that began with the Puritans, and was expressed today by other religious groups. That had to be the answer to all this nonsense…it made the most sense…but how to pry America's feelings out of him?

England knew there was only way surefire way to get an answer out of Alfred.

Somehow, he was going to have to get him seriously drunk.


End file.
